


Pencils and Protests

by Rhaized



Series: The Madonna and Baby [4]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: But Lyra can't help being Lyra, First Day of School, Gen, Lyra gives it a try, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mrs. Coulter expects better, Mrs. Coulter tries to get Lyra into a posh private school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaized/pseuds/Rhaized
Summary: Mrs. Coulter takes Lyra to tour a fancy, posh private school in London. As expected, it doesn’t go well.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter
Series: The Madonna and Baby [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998481
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Pencils and Protests

**Author's Note:**

> “And where do you go to school, my dear?” said an elderly lady, inspecting Lyra through a lorgnette.
> 
> “I don’t go to school,” Lyra told her.
> 
> “Really? I thought your mother would have sent you to her old school. A very good place…”
> 
> —The Golden Compass, Ch. 5: The Cocktail Party, p. 78

**Pencils and Protests**

* * *

Lyra had just woken up for the day and came out into the living room, yawning and stretching her arms out. It was about seven o’clock, which felt extraordinarily _early_ for her. She’d never been a morning person, really, and had always been practically dragged out of bed every morning by Mrs. Lonsdale or one of the servants sent to wake her up for the day. Living with Mrs. Coulter meant adjusting to an earlier schedule now, however, which Lyra was still getting used to. She’d been with Mrs. Coulter for a couple months already and slowly started waking up earlier and earlier.

"Good morning, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter called out from her seat on the sofa, smiling kindly over at her. She was wearing a beautiful blue silk dress with short sleeves and a small dip at the neck. It was one of her fancier ones and was paired with sparkling golden jewelry around her neck and on her ears. Her hair was up in its usual curls, although slightly tighter and more in-tact while her face was done fully up in heavy makeup. Lyra wondered if she was going somewhere soon, and why she was ready so early.

“‘Morning,” Lyra said sleepily back. 

"Come here, darling." 

Lyra’s arms fell back to her side as she and her daemon ventured further into the living room, Lyra in her light green nightgown and teal blue slippers and Pan as a dark, tabby polecat. She moved to sit down next to Mrs. Coulter on the sofa, hesitating a moment before leaning forward and giving Mrs. Coulter a hug. The woman returned the embrace warmly, running her hand softly through Lyra’s hair. The golden monkey reached out to Pan, too, who shyly went over to him and brushed his cheek against the monkey’s lithe fingers.

“You look pretty today.”

“Why, thank you, dear.”

“What’s the reason?”

“I’m headed out very shortly, actually, and I was hoping you would come with me.”

“Where?” That was Pan, changing from a cat to an owl as he fluttered up and perched himself on Lyra’s shoulders. 

“To a school. A very special school, in fact. I’m trying to see if they can find a place for you there.”

Lyra couldn’t help the grimace that crossed her face at that. _School._ Lyra _hated_ school, and lessons, and studying, and anything of the sort. The Scholars at Jordan had tried so very hard with her, buying her pretty little pads of paper and the best of pens as they taught her to write and take notes and listen to lectures. She just never got into it in the way they desperately wanted her to. While they all readily and eagerly spent hours reading and discussing ideas and arguing back and forth, Lyra just couldn’t focus. She couldn’t go more than ten minutes without wondering what Roger was up to or what the Gyptian children were doing or what the cooks were making for lunch. Her mind didn’t stay in place for too long in the ways schooling seemed to demand. So the thought of going to school now filled her with many bland, painful memories that she hadn’t ever wanted to think about again.

“I know that look,” Mrs. Coulter laughed after a few more beats, the sound of it as light as the breeze as she bent forward to tuck a strand of hair behind Lyra’s hair. “You’re not happy.”

“I didn’t know you was going to send me to school,” Lyra muttered to her then, aware of Mrs. Coulter’s jaw clenching a little. “Do you really want to get rid of me that much?”

“Oh, goddess no!” Mrs. Coulter took Lyra’s arms and held them in her lap, gazing intently at her. Her blue eyes glittered in the soft lamp lighting. “On the contrary, Lyra, I want only the best for you! The best education, the best training for the North, the best possible life. And I’m afraid I can’t educate you enough on my own, and am looking for others who can help you more than I can.”

“I don’t want to go away and live at some school, though,” Lyra countered. 

“You don’t have to! This school is in London. It’s only a short distance away. I could walk you there every single morning and pick you up every single afternoon. We’d have every night together and all day on the weekends, yet you’d still get a top-rated education at a highly-renowned school and learn all sorts of interesting and important things.”

Lyra still wasn’t so sure about it, even though the conviction in Mrs. Coulter’s voice and the softness of her caresses was almost enough to persuade her. Now that she thought about it, she always _had_ wondered what life would have been like for her if she went to a proper school like all the other kids of her status. Her uncle went to school, she knew. He told her that he and Lyra’s father went to a school just outside of Oxford, actually, away in the country but very good for the sciences. And then Uncle Asriel studied at Jordan, and continued to do research there. She didn’t know if her mother had gone to school, but she probably did, so it probably wasn’t such a bad idea.

_But how are_ **_you_ ** _going to learn things in school?_ Pan wondered, not trying to be mean but feeling a strong dose of skepticism at the thought. _You’ve hardly learned anything, and think about all that the others will have learned by now!_

_I’m not_ **_stupid,_ ** _Pan!_ Lyra thought back hotly, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he was right. She hadn’t been a very good student and wasn’t learned in the ways these other kids would be. Would she even be able to keep up with everyone? What would that even look like? She had a hard time even envisioning herself in class with other children in that manner. 

“What do you say?” Mrs. Coulter pressed, interrupting her thoughts. She was biting her lip slightly and tilting her head. “Will you come with me today and meet some people? All you have to do is meet them, and look around a little. That's it.”

“Fine,” Lyra said, for just taking a _look_ didn’t seem too bad. Mrs. Coulter clapped her hands together in delight and hurried Lyra back into her bedroom, moving to the wardrobe and searching for the _perfect_ outfit as she asked Lyra to brush her teeth and try to do something about that messy bed hair.

“What’s this place called again?” They were walking down the sidewalk now, both clad in warm wool coats as they crossed their street and headed down another one.

“St. Josephine’s,” Mrs. Coulter answered, voice as peppy as her step. “It’s a very fine school, established a couple hundred years ago for both young boys _and_ young girls to receive a good and faithful education.”

“Faithful?” Lyra repeated, feeling Pan’s sense of unease continue to grow in her. He trotted next to her as a gray husky.

“Yes. This school and its teachings are in line with the Magisterium, and many fine young children of Magisterium officials study there.”

“Oh,” said Lyra, feeling herself start to deflate.

“Do you remember Jimmy? The boy you went trick or treating with?” Lyra’s entire being perked up at that. “He goes here, too. His mother is on the school board, in fact, and helped me get an audience for today.”

Lyra liked Jimmy. She first met him at a party Mrs. Coulter held on Halloween, where she was forced to wear a stiff, ugly dress and entertain guests before Mrs. Coulter took her trick or treating where she dressed as a more formidable swamp creature. Most of the kids had been annoying except for Jimmy, who spoke up about how annoying some of the other kids were and defended Lyra when Mrs. Coulter had questioned her. They then went trick or treating together, where they had a great time getting all the candy they possibly could. He was nice. He was fun. He was someone she could actually stand, and if he was at this school, he’d be one person she could maybe, actually possibly have some fun with.

“That’s nice of her,” Lyra answered, trying not to let on about how excited she was. 

“So you see, this is a good thing!” Mrs. Coulter slipped her arm around Lyra’s shoulder now, pulling her closer. “I think this is a very good thing, and I’m so excited for you to see it.”

The school itself was incredibly fancy, Lyra noticed when they first came up to it. It was _so_ fancy, in fact, that it had a tall, heavy iron gate with guards stationed at either side. There was a beautiful fence along the perimeter, too, that showed a large grassy area before the stone of the school building.

“Does this school cost money?” Lyra suddenly wondered. Pan shook his coat then, feeling a slight chill from the wind. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Coulter.

“Does it cost...a _lot_ of money?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“But, I don’t have any money.” Lyra stopped then, staring ahead of her with a strange sense of guilt and lingering yearning. She looked at this beautiful school and its fancy walls and realized that she didn’t really belong in this kind of place. She’d known the grandeur and comfort of Jordan solely because of her uncle, not because of her own merit or her own wealth. She didn't _think_ Lord Asriel was rich, and even if he was, _she_ certainly wasn't. She saw herself at Jordan as a sort of charity case, really, and wondered if that’s what she was here, too. Quite suddenly, she felt incredibly uncomfortable and like she was floating outside of her own skin. 

“Don’t worry about that, darling.” Mrs. Coulter looked back at her, extending her gloved hand. Her face was serene in the early-morning sunshine. It took everything in Lyra's power not to simply melt into the comfort that face exuded. 

“But, I’ve got to,” Lyra insisted, although she took Mrs. Coulter’s hand and kept walking forward. “I don’t want to put you out or nothing.”

“You won’t,” Mrs. Coulter crooned. “Money isn’t an issue for me, Lyra. I’m very fortunate for that. And it means it isn’t an issue for you, either, so don’t fret.”

_Well, this is different,_ Pan thought, and Lyra agreed, realizing how her life as a poor orphan girl had perhaps come to an end. 

When they arrived at the gate, the guards dressed in their navy blue uniforms held up a hand of caution and then approached them, looking down at a clipboard. “Name?” one of them asked her.

“Marisa Coulter,” said Lyra’s caregiver, and after a brief skim of the list, the man nodded and then opened the gates for them. Lyra saw a pretty fountain set in a courtyard as they entered through the gates, along with some gorgeous trees and a few park benches.

_This is so nice!_ Pan exclaimed, running ahead a little bit and sniffing at some leaves on the ground. _It’s like a park, but it’s actually a school._

“Mrs. Coulter,” said a man almost as soon as they entered the doors of the school. A tall, balding man with a yellow mongoose daemon greeted them, dressed in dark, navy blue robes over a sharp uniform similar to the guards by the gates. He was older than Mrs. Coulter as he was in his fifties or so and his voice was deep, smooth, and perfectly calm. His daemon sat neatly on his shoulders, twitching her whiskers in the directions of Pan and the golden monkey.

“Good morning, Headmaster Roberts. How do you do?”

“Fine, just fine. And you? And is this Lyra?”

The two adults turned to her now, and Lyra felt her face blush. She didn't _mind_ attention, really, and considered herself to be more of an extrovert, but something about the Headmaster’s gaze scrutinized her in a way that made her uncomfortable. It looked as if he were seeing _through_ her, looking into her eyes and inspecting not only what she was wearing and how she was standing but everything she’s ever done. Pan again flashed his worries to her about keeping up in school, and Lyra herself started to worry about being stupid in front of this very sharp man and probably equally as sharp children.

“What do you say, Lyra?” came Mrs. Coulter’s voice—light and musical still, but slightly chiding.

“How do you do, sir?” Lyra came over to him and gave a little curtsey. The man smiled at her and nodded, warmth entering his gaze now.

“Very fine, thank you. I’m so excited to meet you and for you to learn more about our school. Mrs. Coulter was a student herself here, you know, back in her day.”

Lyra looked back over at Mrs. Coulter then, her eyes widening. She hadn’t realized this had been Mrs. Coulter’s school, too. She suddenly felt even more self-conscious than she had before, worrying that she’d be letting the woman down and not living up to these grand expectations that she had for her.

“Right, if you would follow me now, Lyra,” the man said to her, gesturing toward a hallway, “I’ll introduce you to some of the teachers while Mrs. Coulter and I stay behind to talk.”

“Go on, now,” urged Mrs. Coulter as Lyra hesitated. The woman reached down to brush her hands across Lyra’s cheek. “Follow Headmaster Roberts.”

“What if they don’t like me?” Lyra whispered to her, so faintly that only the two of them could hear. Pan was trembling now, although his thick fur coat hid it from plain sight. 

“They’ll _love_ you.” Mrs. Coulter bent forward so that her face was very close to Lyra’s. Lyra smelled her perfume—a sweet lavender—and searched the woman’s eyes to find such affection and softness that it almost took Lyra’s breath away. “And if they don’t, well, then shame on them. Go on now, dear. Don’t keep Headmaster Roberts waiting.”

When she was introduced to two of their teachers, Mrs. Bones and Mrs. Pelligan, Lyra strangely felt like she was in an official interview of sorts.

“And where was your last school again?” Mrs. Bones asked as she prepared Lyra a cup of tea.

“Jordan College,” Lyra said instantly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jordan,” Lyra repeated. “I mean, I lived there since I was a baby, and the Scholars there taught me some stuff whenever they could.”

“I see,” Mrs. Bones replied, although Pan looked at her rat terrier daemon and saw disapproval gloss his thin features. The woman gave Lyra her tea and then sat down on the sofa across from her. “And what did they teach you at Jordan?”

“Mostly about experimental theology,” Lyra said aloud. “I don’t _really_ understand all the bits of pieces, but I know some about particles and energy and such.”

“And what about spelling and writing?” Mrs. Pelligan added. 

“Uh, not very much,” Lyra admitted, remembering a few ill-fated spelling sessions with the Librarian that ended with her in tears and the Librarian sneaking her into the kitchens for a spot of chocolaty to try and make it up to her. It made her shudder, so she sipped her tea to try and shake it off. 

“Sewing?”

Lyra merely stared, which was answer enough.

“Now, how about history?” Mrs. Bones moved on.

“Oh, I know history! Jordan has a lot of Scholars from America, you see, and I learned all about New France and New Denmark and Texas and the like. I heard about some of their Colleges, too, and some of the awful things people there were saying and things like that.”

And so it went, back and forth for maybe twenty minutes or so. At one point one of the teachers went up to a little blackboard and put a few arithmetic questions up, asking Lyra if she could solve any of it. She couldn’t, and she couldn't spell any of the big words they read to her, either. She did well enough with science, of course, at least the more metaphysical questions. But overall Lyra followed them out of the room with an increasing sense of shame, Pan trailing behind her with his ears drooping. 

“The Headmaster and your mother will be out shortly now, dear,” said Mrs. Pelligan before she and Mrs. Bones scampered away from her.

It took Lyra a minute to recognize the woman’s mistake. Mrs. Coulter wasn’t her _mother._ It was an easy thing to assume, Lyra supposed, as Mrs. Coulter carted her around and took care of her like any good mother would do. Mrs. Coulter _did_ act like a mother to her, really. It made Lyra sad, though, for people to assume that about her and for Lyra not to actually know who her mother was. She moved closer to the room and leaned against the wall, Pan in her arms as a white ermine.

“Can you hear them talking still?” Lyra asked after a while. She thought she heard the word “circumstances” and it piqued her interest.

“I can try to get closer,” Pan offered, and at Lyra’s nodding he switched into a mouth and flew to the top of the door frame, resting on the very top where he could get even a tad closer to the other side.

“There’s always a legacy admission,” the Headmaster was saying, though it was very hard for Pan to hear clearly.

“No, no, that won’t do,” Mrs. Coulter answered. Her voice was soft but it sounded flustered to Pan. “She must do so on her own. Can’t you find a place for her, Carl?”

“We’ll see,” was the solemn response, and as Pan heard footsteps approach, Pan flew back to Lyra and went back to her arms as an ermine when the door opened and the two came back out.

“All finished?” Mrs. Coulter asked, voice suddenly bright and enthusiastic as the Headmaster nodded toward yet another hallway and made his way over.

“I don’t think they like me,” Lyra murmured to her, feeling the woman’s hand slip down to hold her own. “They asked me a bunch of questions that I didn’t know.”

"So what?” Mrs. Coulter responded, squeezing her hand as they followed Headmaster Roberts over to a classroom that had students starting to enter. “You’ll be perfectly fine, dear. Now you get to sit in on a real class. Isn’t that exciting?”

When Lyra was introduced to the teacher and then asked to take a seat in the back, she found her way there and was delighted as she looked over to see who was sitting in the seat ahead of her.

“Jimmy!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as Pan scampered over the desk as a mouse to touch noses with Jimmy’s kitten daemon. 

“Lyra!” he called back, happiness glinting in his bright green eyes. His brown hair was longer than when she’d seen him at Halloween and was slicked back neatly, matching the fine press of his dark navy school uniform. “Are you coming to school here then?”

“Maybe,” Lyra sighed, resting her head in her hands as she propped her elbows up on the desk. “I met these two teachers and I don’t think they like me very much…”

Lyra told him what had happened and what they’d asked her for a few minutes before the class eventually started. Once the lesson began, Lyra looked around at all the students. They were all dressed in the same dark navy uniform with the boys wearing pants and the girls skirts. When they were called on by the teacher, the students stood up next to their desks to give their answers, their tones quiet, polite, and formal.

_So stuffy!_ Pan complained, wrinkling his whiskers, and Lyra was prone to agree. This was absolutely _everything_ she hated about rich kids and big cities like London. She’d never been a fan of the people who’d visited Jordan from these places, and those feelings didn’t change now as she witnessed their indoctrination at work.

“It’s really not so bad,” Jimmy said as everyone packed up their things and headed to the cafeteria for lunch. Lyra would be joining them, Mrs. Coulter had told her, and she needed to be on her very best behavior to impress the teachers and the Headmaster. Lyra didn’t think she was doing that well, really, with her disastrous interview and not being able to answer a single question or even understand what was going on in the history class she’d just observed. But she could at least try to get on with the students. 

“The food, though?" Jimmy continued as they took their place in the lunch line. " _Terrible._ The worst things I've ever eaten.”

Indeed Jimmy was right. As Lyra took her food tray and followed Jimmy over to a group of chattering children, she couldn’t help the look of disgust that crossed her face as she peered down at her food.

_What is it?_ Pan inquired, leaning down closer from her shoulder as a hawk to look. Lyra’s attention was particularly taken with a stiff looking block that jiggled as she walked over to the table.

“Welcome to tofu day,” Jimmy sneered as they sat down. He nodded at all the other kids, who were around their age or so. “Everyone, this is Lyra. Lyra, everyone.”

“Hi, everyone,” said Lyra sweetly, although she couldn’t help the twinkle in her eye as she took a look at them. “Enjoying your…. _tofu?_ ”

They all laughed at that, leaning in more comfortably as they each introduced themselves to Lyra and told them what they _really_ thought of the place.

“Mrs. Reskin _smells_ funny,” one of them told her. “She teaches home economics for the girls and I always _hate_ going there.”

“And Mr. Bodeg is always chewing tobacco during class,” another complained. “I don’t think he’s _supposed_ to, but he doesn’t really care. None of them do. They just do as they please and nothing ever happens to them.”

“Okay, I _really_ can’t deal with this food!” Just then Lyra spit out some spinach quite forcefully, causing all of the children in their general vicinity to look over at her. “How can you possibly _eat_ this? It tastes like literal _garbage._ ”

“Yeah,” Jimmy chimed in, dramatically spitting out his tofu, too, and shoved his tray away. He gave her a quick grin. After a few moments of hesitation, the others in their little group did the same. And then some others around them until, quite suddenly, everyone was staring at spit-out food on their plates.

_Look at that, Lyra!_ Pan breathed as everyone turned to look at her, nodding approvingly. _And here we thought we weren't going to fit in!_ Maybe hope wasn’t lost for all these rich brats, Lyra figured, seeing how they all seemed to look to her for instruction and clearly came to their senses about this particular matter. Maybe all they needed was a _push_ to not be so boring and obedient and stuffy. Maybe it was up to _her_ to help them.

“This food is _disgusting,”_ Lyra proclaimed, moving to stand up on the lunch bench. She didn't know what she was doing. It just felt right, to stand up like that. Glancing all around her, she saw there were no adults in the room at the moment, which she could use to her advantage. “We shouldn’t be treated like this! We’re kids. We should eat whatever we want.”

“Yeah!” came a chorus of voices from around the room. Lyra lifted her chin up, feeling a rush of adrenaline. They were all looking at her, watching her. _Following her._

“Food like this,” Lyra said slowly, bending down to pick up a fistful of the now-broken tofu, “has only _one_ purpose in a cafeteria like this.”

She wound up her arm, flutters of excitement surrounding her, but before she could lurch it forward and expel the tofu, she heard a low, feminine voice calmly piece through the air: _“Lyra Marcella Belacqua.”_

Lyra froze then, her arm mid-throw as the tofu slowly started to leak through her fingers and threatened to drip to the ground. It was entirely quiet in the previously-rowdy room. Pan changed into a brown mouse at this point, scurrying into the long sleeve of her blue dress. Lyra’s dark eyes were trained on Mrs. Coulter’s blue ones, which burned fire at her.

“Oh,” Lyra simply said, thinking fast. She felt her heart and pulse reverberating throughout her entire body. “Would you all like some tofu?”

Laughter burst from the cafeteria and Lyra couldn’t help the smile that slipped through her lips. She quickly hid it, though, as Mrs. Coulter hounded her, yanking her by the arm down onto the ground while Headmaster Roberts waved for everyone’s attention and signalled for everyone to calm down.

“Absolutely unbelievable,” Mrs. Coulter fumed as she dragged Lyra out of the school after a hasty goodbye to the Headmaster.

“I’m sorry,” Lyra said for probably the twentieth time in the past three minutes. Her face still burned red as Mrs. Coulter shoved Lyra’s coat back on her and then continued to practically cut off circulation in her arm as they left the grounds and headed back to the street. The golden monkey was holding an ermine Pan in his arms from his place on Mrs. Coulter’s shoulders, his little eyes so narrowed Lyra couldn’t even see his pupils.

“No, you’re not!” Mrs. Coulter cried, stopping and turning around to grasp Lyra’s shoulders. The monkey swayed a little at the sudden movement but then regained his balance, letting out a hiss. “You utterly humiliated me in there!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Lyra insisted, trying to look at the woman and then looking away again due to the sheer force of the woman’s glare. “I wasn’t thinking about embarrassing you or nothing! I was just trying to get along with the other kids.”

“By rallying them into a food fight, Lyra? Really?”

“It…made sense at the time. That tofu stuff was _really_ gross, Mrs. Coulter.”

“You don’t _think,_ child!” Mrs. Coulter spat, pulling Lyra again and continuing down the street. “Can’t even control yourself for five minutes alone.”

“Does that mean I didn’t get in, then?” Lyra asked. Part of her felt relieved, really, thinking about how she didn’t have to wear a stiff, itchy uniform every day. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe shd should be glad.

“Oh, you don’t get off that easily.” Mrs. Coulter’s voice was icier than the early winter air around them. “You’ll be attending.”

_“What?”_ That was Pan, his voice strangled from the monkey’s arms.

“Yes,” Mrs. Coulter said, shooting him a moody glance before fluttering her eyes back to Lyra. “They’ll admit you, and teach you. And you’ll behave and learn how to be an obedient child.”

This was the worst punishment Lyra could receive, she reckoned, still in disbelief as Mrs. Coulter continued to drag her down the London streets back over to their apartment. Pan tried to reach out to her, but the monkey held him tighter, and Mrs. Coulter gripped Lyra’s arm so hard she was certain it was going to go numb soon.

_Well,_ Pan thought, his resolve fading away now, _this is what we get, I suppose. This is our life now._

**Author's Note:**

> Another random idea I had: how would Lyra actually function in a fancy London school with rich people’s kids, and how upset would Mrs. Coulter be at her inevitable behavior?! And, more from my OC Jimmy we met in my other fic in this series, His Dark Hallowed Eve :)


End file.
